


Counting Tile, Losing Bile and Sleep

by BlackIrises



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Angst, Eating Disorder, Fluff, Happy Ending, Louis is Harry's flatmate, M/M, and Harry has an eating disorder, friends at first, just a little bit, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, may be triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:07:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4349972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackIrises/pseuds/BlackIrises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't as though Louis didn't hear the retching and gagging each night after dinner. It wasn't as though he didn't notice the reddened calluses growing like a plague across his flatmate's hands. It wasn't as though he didn't care, he just wasn't sure what to do about it. He figures, though, that he really should've done something sooner, because now it feels like he's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting Tile, Losing Bile and Sleep

Louis nibbled his lip, hard enough to tear the topmost layer of skin clean off. He was worried. Beyond worried, actually, because Harry, his friend of three years (and his flatmate of nearly eleven months), hadn't left the bathroom in thirty-five minutes. He didn't want to check on the younger boy just yet, he'd taken up much longer periods of times locked within the tiny, white-tiled room, but instead of hearing an occasional gag to confirm that Harry was still somewhat alive, he had only been met with silence for the past fifteen minutes.

He even thought that the silence was more torturous to hear than the horrible, muted gagging he'd almost become accustomed to. At least he knew what Harry was up to when the gagging sounded. At least he knew that the scrawny boy was, although not one-hundred percent alright, still breathing.

Louis looked over to the clock. Had another five minutes already passed? Harry still hadn't made another sound, and he wondered if the younger boy was even in the bathroom anymore.

"Harry?" He called out, grabbing the television remote and lowering the volume. No response.

What could have happened to him? He'd always gotten some sort of response from the lad, whether it be a verbal answer or an irritated grunt.

This was strange. Too strange, and Louis didn't like it. Not one bit. He shut off the television and stood, stretching his arms above his head until he heard a relieving _pop_.

He walked out into the hallway, the light streaming from under the bathroom door contrasting with the darkness of its surroundings. Louis wasn't sure whether he was relieved or scared to discover that Harry was still closed inside the bathroom.

Half a dozen soft footsteps later, Louis found himself staring straight at the door, hand wrapped around the knob. "Harry? Are you still in there?"

He pressed his ear to the dark wood of the door, listening for anything - words, movement, grunting, _breathing_ , even - but he was met with nothing in return.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, making the decision to try the knob without Harry’s consent. It wouldn't budge, much to his dismay, but if he was being realistic, he didn’t exactly expect Harry to have left to door unlocked. And again, if he was being realistic, he didn’t exactly expect Harry to answer him, either. Especially not after he knocked again, and again, and again.

“Did you leave the flat without me knowing, mate? Through the window in there, or something?” He asked, sure his questions were falling uselessly upon deaf ears.

By that point, Louis had almost given up hope completely, the concern he was feeling for the younger boy becoming nearly unbearable as he contemplated busting the door down. And he decided that he would’ve done it, too, if it weren’t for the weak, shaky voice that slipped through the door, going almost undetected by Louis because of how terribly quiet it was.

“Louis?” Harry asked, words trailing off into a rough fit of coughing and wheezing. The relief that bathed Louis at the very-late response was short lived, though, as a new, urgent sense of worry took hold.

“Fuck, Harry? Yeah, it’s me. It’s been me for a while. Are you alright in there? You ‘aven’t been answering me, it’s been-” Louis turned, quickly to glance at the digital clock hanging above their kitchen table, “It’s been nearly an hour and you haven’t made a sound.”

Instead of a verbal response, Louis could hear a soft shuffling movement through the door, followed by heavy, ragged breathing, which he assumed meant that Harry had shifted closer to the door.

“Harry?” He questioned, gently, leaning his forehead against the cool wood of the door. He was borderline desperate to see the boy with his own two eyes, to make sure he was alright. Well, as alright as one could be in Harry’s situation, which, Louis thinks, he really should’ve looked into a lot sooner, especially now that it’s been almost a year of knowing.

“I’m fine,” came Harry, voice strained and tired. “Please go. I’ll b-” He broke off into another episode of coughing, this one sounding worse than its predecessor.

Shoulders slumped and aware that Harry couldn’t see him through the door, Louis shook his head. “Not going to happen. Not until I see you and I know that you’re okay,” he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, returning to chewing the skin that he’d already abused earlier on. A moment of silence went by, Louis’ only indication of Harry’s presence being the sound of his labored breathing.

“You wouldn’t understand this, Louis,” Harry said, “This is something that you don’t want to get tangled in. Please. Go.”

“Har-”

“No. This is none of your business, first of all,” He paused, sucking in a stressed breath of air, “And second of all, you don’t know what’s going on, with me and all, so it shouldn’t matter to you. And… And I’d really appreciate it if you forgot about this. Didn’t mean to take this long in here, and ‘m sorry if you have to piss or something. I’ll be out in a moment.”

Further worry cultivated in Louis’ chest, stalked by a hint of guilt. In fact, in that moment, Louis might’ve hated himself, just a little. Because he _did_ understand what was going on. He _did_ know what Harry was dealing with - to a certain extent, of course. Researched it only a month after he’d first caught on to the younger man’s routine of eating mass amounts of food and then hiding away in the toilet for much longer than any man should hide away in a toilet.

Louis knew very well that Harry had been battling some kind of eating disorder that revolved around tossing food back up, had known for a long time, but he didn’t think it was his place to tell a grown, twenty-one year old man what not to do.

“I’m not going to forget about this,” Louis replied, closing his eyes as he wrapped his hand around the doorknob once again. He remembered the time he’d discovered that he could unlock it if he used enough pressure, and began to seriously consider doing so. The new-found and surprising desperation that set camp was making him practically _need_ to see his flatmate. “Please open the door. I want to help you, and despite what you might think, I do know what’s going on. Maybe not the whole of it, but I've got a general idea.”

And if the small intake of air that came next was a gasp from Harry, Louis wouldn’t have been surprised. He was surprised, however, at the gentle sniffling that began, pursued by the lock on the door turning ever so slowly. Feeling the knob revolve under the light grip of his fingers, Louis let go, stepping back to see the door crack open. Light filtered out into the dark hallway, and Louis took the now-open door as a non verbal affirmation that Harry wanted him to go in.

So with a hesitant, shaky hand - not that he’d ever admit that he was nervous, or anything of that sort - he pushed open the door, bracing himself for whatever he might be faced with once he stepped inside.

The first thing that hit him was the smell. It was strong, to say the least, and Louis could only describe it as _vomit_. He tried not to scrunch his nose or show any other sort of reaction, but he realized that didn’t have to worry about his reaction to the scent for long once he caught sight of Harry.

No, not when the man took any thought he had about the repugnant smell away and replaced them with heart-clenching concern.

Hunched over and trembling stood Harry, body weight completely relying on their bathroom sink. The green in his eyes that Louis usually loved to secretly admire was outshined by the puffy redness of his lids, and his lips were swollen, crusted with what looked to be their dinner from earlier on that night. His cheeks, which were often dented by Louis’ favourite set of dimples, were dotted with an endless sea of red, broken capillaries. The man looked weaker than Louis had ever seen them, and it was obvious to the both of them that Louis was on the verge of crying out.

Instead of that, though, Louis crouched down and without any sort of hesitation, as if the action came as natural as breathing, he pulled the shivering man into his arms.

Harry was pliant, body weight shifting from the sink to Louis’ chest. Without speaking a word, he tucked his head beneath the curve of Louis’ chin, warm tears travelling down his blotchy cheeks before falling to meet the cool skin of Louis’ tan neck.

“What happened?” Louis asked, not expecting Harry to answer as soon as he had.

“Passed out.” He replied simply, large, tattooed hand lifting from the bathroom tile to twist into the grey fabric of Louis’ jumper. “ _It_ ,” he said as if he didn’t want to verbally admit what he’d been doing, “tires me out, sometimes, and I haven’t been getting much sleep lately and… And I guess it was too much for my body to handle. I know I should be more responsible,” he muttered, almost spitefully, “but now I’ve dragged you into this.”

At first, Louis had no idea what to say. He knew Harry had been forcing his food back up, but he didn’t know that this was the reality, didn’t know how truly horrible what Harry had been doing all this time was. And now, sitting on their cold bathroom tile, Louis really wishes, more than anything, that he had done something sooner.

“I’m sorry,” Louis finally chose to say, using the hand that wasn’t supporting Harry to rub at the back of the curly-haired man’s head.

He relished the way Harry’s heart beat softly against his chest.

“What for?” Harry whispered, and Louis could feel the movement of his lips brushing his neck.

Louis shrugged, tightening his grip around the younger man, who felt a whole lot smaller - bonier, even - in his embrace than he looked.

“I’ve… I’ve known about this for a while, now. It doesn’t take a detective to realize what you do sometimes after you eat. I, uh, had even looked into it, at first, but I didn’t think I was in any position to do anything about it. Now, though,” He shook his head, eyes wandering to the toilet, which was dirtied with the remnants of their dinner. Louis felt sick. “Now I realise that I really should’ve done something sooner.”

“No,” Harry protested, grunting as he lifted himself from Louis, “You shouldn’t have. ‘S not your fault I’m like this, you shouldn’t have to deal with shit like this. Besides, I’m a grown ass man, and I-” Yet another burst of coughing and wheezing attacked the man, his body wrenching forward and eyes screwing shut.

Louis frowned, guilt punching him harder than ever. He hated seeing Harry like this, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t done anything before, hadn’t bothered to do something as simple as _checking_ on the younger boy, just to see if he was alright. He hated that he didn’t see Harry’s habit as what it really was - a serious, threatening eating disorder.

The yellow teeth should’ve told him something. Those horrible, cherry-red callouses blooming on his left hand that seemed to grow with every passing day should’ve told him something. The occasional vomit stains he’d find under the toilet lid should’ve told him something.

It all should’ve told him that no, this wasn’t a harmless habit or a phase, wasn’t something that would be alright if left alone. It all should’ve told him how real and serious this was, and now, with the man shaking and weak in his grip, he wonders if it’s too late.

“I’m going to help you,” Louis tried to sound certain, strong, even, because he knew Harry needed strength at the moment, “and this isn’t shit. This is a real, actual problem that I should’ve manned up and done something about. I’m sorry that I didn’t do anything sooner, I am so, so, so sorry that I didn’t do anything but…” He trailed off, taking a prolonged second to brush a stray curl from Harry’s tear stained face, “But I’m going to be here for you now, alright?”

Now that’s when Harry collapsed, down into Louis’ lap, shaking and gasping for breaths as he clutched Louis’ shirt once again. Louis was taken aback, to say the least, but tried to comfort Harry as well as he could. Though, it was only a couple of short minutes before the younger man was detaching himself from Louis and rubbing his eyes with the base of his palms to rid himself of tears.

“Sorry, fuck,” He cursed, pink lips pursing, “I shouldn’t be having this reaction but, uh, thanks. For like, not hating me for this? Like my last flat mate had?” Harry shook his head, tightening his lanky arms around his torso. Louis watched with soft curiosity, tilting his head to the side.

“Something similar had happened, and he didn’t react well and… And I could no longer live there without feeling like a freak and he didn’t offer to help or even show that he cared and you _hugged_ me and you’re not shutting me out, so it’s strange. But thank you, again.”

Louis could see that despite Harry’s best efforts to stop, his tears were persistent and kept dripping steadily from his green eyes. “Don’t thank me, really. I care about you, and it’s been almost a year, I really should have done something a whole lot sooner. Something that could have helped you with… With this eating disorder, because I’m pretty sure that’s what this is.”

Harry cringed at the term, his furrowing eyebrows telling Louis that maybe Harry wasn’t all that comfortable with the heavy yet real label. It told Louis that Harry was probably still in denial, as the research he’d done had predicted.

“Now,” He said, unfolding his legs out from under him to stand up, “Let’s get you to the kitchen. I’ll help you wash off and then we can talk, yeah?” He held his hand out to Harry, who was still curled on the floor.

For what felt like forever Harry stared up at him, uncertainty present and powerful in his irises, before taking his hand and standing up. Louis couldn’t help but notice the way Harry’s long legs nearly buckled under him, as if they didn't posses the energy to keep him standing, but decided to ignore it for the time being as he offered a comforting smile. 

There was still vomit in the toilet, still tears in Harry’s eyes, still a sea of problems that he knew if he went any farther he’d have to help Harry deal with, but when the corner of Harry’s lips tilted up in the slightest of manners, and his eyes flashed with a hint of hope he’d never seen before, Louis realized how much he cared for his flatmate, and how much he was willing to help, willing to get Harry through this.

“C’mon,” he directed, hesitating for only a split second before tightening his grip on Harry’s hand and leading him out of the tiny bathroom.

They stepped into their tiny kitchen, and after helping Harry wash his face off and preparing a cup of tea, the both of them sat down at the table, hands still entwined. Louis could tell Harry was on the verge of crying, could see how scared Harry looked now that he wanted to speak about his problems, and it only made him more determined to help the man.

With a tender squeeze to Harry’s hand, Louis sighed softly. “We’re going to get you through this, alright?”   
And if Louis said that the look of hope and awe that settled into Harry’s features wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d seen all year, it’d be a blatant lie.

Harry nodded, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before he began to speak.

Louis listened, listened for hours afterwards as they sat together at their tiny, circular table. By the end, when their tea had long since finished and the evening had long since passed, Louis had heard all about Harry’s insecurities, his issues with food and his addiction to forcing it back up after major routine _binges_ (as he would call them), his feelings, his family, his old flatmate, and everything in between.

Even though Louis himself realized how scary this all was, how serious and hard it’d be to get Harry the help he needed and get him back to being okay again, he couldn’t have been more ready. And he told him that, just before the both of them split off for bed.

He pulled Harry tightly against him, winding his arms around the boy’s boney frame in the narrow space of the hall. “You’re going to be okay, Harry,” he whispered, pressing the most gentle of kisses to the younger man’s temple. “I promise.”

And somehow, unlike all the other times people had told him that it’d be okay, that he’d be okay, he believed Louis.

Louis left for his room after bidding Harry goodnight, hopeful smiles painted contently on both of their faces. What the future held was scary, sure, but they both knew that eventually, it’d be okay.

 ****  


**Author's Note:**

> So... This is my first post in a long while and I really hope that it's enjoyable.  
> Feedback is very appreciated and with that said, thanks for reading :3


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